


Full of Life and Full of Love

by MissSunFlower94



Series: Bog's Tiny Girlfriend He Keeps in a Jar [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Bog's Tiny Girlfriend He Keeps in a Jar, Established Relationship, F/M, Lists, More as I think of it, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As of the first of August, Princess Marianne of the Fields of Faerie is to spend her autumns and winters in the Human Realm, in the care of one Ciaran “Bog” King.</p><p>It goes something like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As of the first of August, Princess Marianne of the Fields of Faerie is to spend her autumns and winters in the Human Realm, in the care of one Ciaran “Bog” King.

It goes something like this.

Within the first two months of Marianne living glamoured in the human world she accumulates a number of things:

  * An alias, created by Plum, based off of the one her grandmother must have created. 
    * This includes birth certificate, social security number, a brief family history, as Plum’s distant relative.
    * (The ease of it all Bog finds a bit unnerving. But as far as anyone can determine, it’s watertight.)
  * A last name. Marianne _Woods_ (it makes Bog think of Legally Blonde, and maybe he’s crafting a list of movies to watch with her in his head).
  * A wardrobe, provided by a lengthy shopping trip with his aunt who, thankfully, has never and will never want for money.
    * He’s grateful for that, and doubly grateful when Marianne begins to wear some of her purchases, which include quite a lot of form fitting things and a surprising amount of leather.
    * _“Fairies don’t have leather,”_ Marianne informs him, studying her tiny biker gloves.  _“But I like the feel of it. And I think it looks good on me, don’t you?”_
    * Bog doesn’t know how to say ‘yes but it also makes me want to rip your clothes off all the time’ so he just leaves it at  _“Yes.”_



In the meantime, Bog takes her out as often as he can. For the first time, he feels a bit self-conscious about where he chooses to live and spend his time, especially knowing he could afford more opulence. But Marianne - princess though she may be - seems to enjoy his end of town for what it is. 

“This is where we spend our time when we cross over,” she reminds him, when she catches him fretting. “Sometimes if we’re adventurous we find a bus and go a little further west from here, but we’re only ever here a night so we try not to go too far.”

“So… I _should_  be showin you stuff further away?” Bog hazards. 

She laughs. “Bog, I have months. I want to enjoy them. Take your time.”

Marianne loves the Dark Forest, and for the first few months likes to be there while he works. Not every night, but at least once a week. As predicted, his staff and usual clientele adore her. 

Alongside the Dark Forest, Bog amasses a mental list of what Marianne likes:

  * Him, against all odds, but he knows better than to question it.
    * This includes all things about him (his eyes, his shoulders, his accent, the way he goes down on her).
  * Bars, not just the Dark Forest. Any dingy, alcohol-serving establishment. He figures it’s because it’s so different from what a princess may know, but the novelty doesn’t seem to wear off.
  * _Baths_.
    * Especially the bathtub in the master bathroom (It had been redone so that it was deeper and had those jet-things in the sides. His mother had liked that, Bog didn’t care. Marianne _adored_ it.)
    * Even more especially: Baths _with_ him.
  * Meat. Any kind, any way he cooks it, she’s on top of it like she’s been starving. 
  * His cooking, but then, he knew that already. Still, after taking her to several of his favorite restaurants he’s still surprised when she gushes over anything he cooks for her.
  * Autumn, as soon as it finally hits. 
    * One morning he wakes up to find Marianne isn’t in bed. Going to the kitchen he finds her on the back porch, a pale pink bathrobe on. She tells him she’s never felt air like this before. 
    * Bog gets them coffee, and sits with her. They begin to make a habit of this, even more so when the leaves change and fall.
  * On that note, coffee.
  * Learning new things.



Bog, in turn, loves how much she loves learning, and enjoys answering her questions about the human world, what answers he has anyways. Thankfully she doesn’t ask him to explain computer science or electricity. She seems to take all of that at face value, a kind of magic different from her own world’s, but equivalent.

Even more, he loves showing her things; music she may have missed, movies ( _so many_ movies), different kinds of food. He loves _teaching_ her things. How to cook simple things, how to drive, how to play guitar. That last one she picks up the fastest. 

“Our folk love music,” she tells him, strumming the opening chords of Spirit in the Sky. Bog laughs softly. “We take to it easily.”

He believes her. She can play any instrument he passes to her, and she sings. _Lord_ does she sing. In the bath, in the car, around his house. He feels like maybe it should bother him, but it doesn’t. Her song choices are almost always excellent, and he loves the sound of her voice, low and sultry and smooth.

He also loves her voice when it goes high and reedy, when it’s a different kind of song sung for him alone, the words far simpler utterances of _yes, more oh please oh Bog yesss_. 

Yes, if Bog were to craft his own list of things he liked about Marianne living with him, making love to her would rank pretty high up - granted it would also be a very extensive list.

Because, just like when he first had her in his life, Marianne made herself at home in it. Marianne felt like home, felt like comfort and familiarity and made Bog understand why love made people tear down walls they put around themselves and their hearts. 

Because Marianne living with him has made him the happiest he could remember being.

Winter rolls around and Bog adds to his list of her likes:

  * Snowfall. She tends to stay inside or watch from his porch, but the awe in her eyes in unmistakeable. 
  * On that note, _ice_. There’s freezing rain in the early winter and the branches of all the trees are all coated in a layer of ice and Marianne spends an entire afternoon running her fingers over low hanging branches in fascination.
  * Everything associated with winter, really; sweaters and hot cider and Christmas
  * God, Christmas gets its own bullet. 
    * He’s the son of a Protestant man and a Jewish woman (now dating a Wiccan woman), and considers himself an Atheist, but consumeristic as it is, Bog can’t help but enjoy some aspects of Christmas, and certainly can’t help but indulge her fascination with it.
    * They go all out - the tree, the old movies, he buys cheap stockings and hangs them over his fireplace. Marianne manages to sneak out with his family and buys him a handful of gifts.
    * He buys her a custom helmet for when he takes her out on his motorcycle, a vibrant purple to match her wings. 
    * She bought him a lawn ornament for his garden. A fairy.   
And socks. 
    * He’s never had a better winter in his entire life. 



By this point, he also has begun a list of things Marianne ** _doesn’t_** like:

  * Being cold.
    * It is worth noting that Marianne loves the cold itself, just not being cold. The only problem is that the fairy in her means she gets cold easily. She goes out in three winter coats, a hat and a scarf and her teeth still chatter.
  * Eating mushrooms. She eyes the ones he cooks with something close to horror and he has a feeling she’s not telling him something when she says she doesn’t feel comfortable eating them, but he doesn’t press it.
  * Shorter days. Bog calls her a flower, needing the sun to thrive.
  * Being dependent. 



He can’t do anything about the weather or the rotation of the earth or food preferences, so he takes mushrooms out of his recipes and does what he can to keep her warm. 

It’s that last one that bothers him.

He teaches Marianne to drive, but even as she learns he only has his truck and the motorcycle and in the winter he takes the truck everywhere. He takes her with him most places, most of his errands, even to his work time and again, but they both know that she only has the two options: go with him, or wait at the house. 

She doesn’t comment on it often, and he knows it isn’t boredom or feeling confined that bothers her. It’s that Marianne in all her curiosity and love of learning wants to _do_ something in this world, wants a place in it outside of a passive observer. 

December rolls around before Bog gets the answer:

  * _“A job?”_
  * It’s a job.
  * _“It’s only during the fall, so it’ll have to wait until you’re here next year. Is that okay?”_
  * A job working at the local college, specifically it’s recreation center.
  * _“What is it?”_
  * It’s a class, teaching self-defense. Something she has told him that she taught herself over the past summer, something she told him she had always wanted to learn but had never been encouraged to do.  
  * _“Won’t I have to pass a class or something before I can teach? Wouldn’t they need to interview me?”_
  * _“Plum teaches Yoga at the center, she’ll put in a word for you-”_
    * (”What doesn’t your aunt do?”)
  * _“-and If they need to interview you we can work it out on while you’re here.”_ Here Bog hesitates.  _“I mean, this is all if ye want. I just thought- maybe ye’d like-”_
  * He’s cut off again, because Marianne is kissing him.



She’s happier after that, knowing she’ll have something to do the next fall. Happier because it _roots_ her there, in that world, with him. 

But before long Bog has added another item to the list of things Marianne does not like:

  * Spring.
  * Reminders that she is going to leave.



“You made an agreement, Princess Marianne.”

“I know. I know I did.” She paces around the kitchen, fingers dragging through her messy hair. It’s the first day the high is above 50 degrees. She is very upset about this. “And don’t call me that.”

“All right, _Miss Woods_.”

Marianne glares at him. “Look, I know. I just- I thought- like an idiot, I thought I could do it. It might even be easy.”

He doesn’t get out of the way when her pacing comes his direction and she runs right into him. He settles his arms around her, hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her jeans. 

She looks the long way up at him, dark hair falling in her large amber eyes. “It’s not easy at all.”

“I know, love,” he says soothingly. He’d never admit it, ever, but as much as it hurts to see her upset, part of him is glad to hear her express her reluctance to leave. Old habits die hard and even after almost five months with her, Bog can’t help but feel one morning she’ll wake up and realize he wasn’t worth the trouble.

As if reading his thoughts, she shakes her head. “I mean it, Bog. I really thought - _worried_ , more like - that maybe my dad was a little right. Maybe I was just dazzled by everything being new and different. Maybe I’d tire of it, maybe I’d realize I should be home. But being here- being with you, Bog and getting to know you, I’m just given more reasons to - to want to- to-”

“Marianne,” he murmurs, knowing she babbles when she’s nervous or upset. She focuses on him again and he smiles. “I love ye, too.”

Her eyes go wide and a little misty. “I love you,” she says, a bit unnecessarily. He kisses her, starting off soft and gentle until she bites at his lower lip and moans sweetly. Things escalate a bit from there. 

Later, Marianne traces her fingers over a hickey on his neck, humming with satisfaction. “You know, I’ll come back on Beltane, and the Solstice. It’s not like there’ll be six months without me or anything.” She’s assuring herself as much as him but he’s happy to let her do it.

He laughs. “God, I really did get the long end of the stick with this agreement.”

“Lucky us.”

“And besides, Tough Girl, it’s only early March. Ye’ve got some time yet before things bloom.” 

They did, in fact, have another month, before the primroses bloomed. They bloomed for a week, without either Bog or Marianne saying a word about them, although Bog knew they both knew about it. 

It wasn’t until one morning Bog got a knock on his door and an older, impeccably dressed, man introduced himself as Marianne’s father.

But that was another story. 


	2. Holding Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the winter of Marianne's second season with Bog.

Bog King found Marianne in the kitchen, drinking coffee out of her favorite mug. The 'stripe-y' mug that gained it's name from various pink, yellow, and green vertical stripes. She had stole the mug from his mother and Plum's home (who had first stole it from their suite on cruise they went on one summer).  

For a minute, Bog just watched her as she sat, still unaware of his presence. The tank top she wore was loose, slipping down her back and exposing her vibrant butterfly wings. If not for their color, too bright for a natural tattoo, there would be no way to know that the young woman sitting at his kitchen island was a fairy, and a fairy princess at that.

It was going into the last week of february of her second season with him. Not to say anything against their first, but Bog had to say he enjoyed seeing how much more natural Marianne was in this world this second year. She still got confused by some things, but when she came back into his life that August, it was as if she had never left. She remembered how to drive, and how to work the coffee maker and used the most human of curse words.

He could only imagine after five years, or ten. She would be as much human as she was fairy. It was a strange thought, but one he considered with a tenuous amount of hope.

The floor creaked under his feet as he shifted his weight and Marianne straightened her back a little, but didn't turn. "Well someone's finally up," she said.

Bog came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "More like someone's up early."

She hummed as he kneaded her shoulders in a gentle massage. "Mmmm. Birds were making an effing racket."

He rolled his eyes. Marianne wasn't a huge fan of birds, sighting that they were natural predators back in her land. He kissed the top of her head.

"You're gross," she said, warm affection in her voice.

Bog laughed. "Ye like it."

She leaned back so her head bumped his chest, and craned her neck to look at him. "You get so touchy-feel-y after sex."

"Am I... not touchy durin' sex, Tough Girl?"

She snorted. "You know what I mean."

He lifted his hands from her, holding them up in dramatic surrender. "Ye need only say the word, love."

"Idiot," Marianne said instead, wrinkling her nose. He laughed again, and returned his hands to her shoulders. She hummed again, and kept her head resting against his chest.

They were quiet together a moment, before Marianne spoke, her voice suddenly taking on a different tone. “Hey, Bog?”

Unsure what to make of the change, Bog tilted his head down to look at her. “Aye, Marianne?”

Her shoulders had tensed under his hands. “I- um- I’ve been thinking about- about something- um- lately. Kinda... I don’t want to say serious but- um- important- and like, I don’t need you to have, like, a definitive opinion on the matter like, right now, obviously- but just, thoughts? I’d like your- your thoughts on- on-”

“Marianne, ye need to breathe.”

She was still a moment, and then did. Bog studied her, frowning. Marianne was fairly insecure, like him, and was prone to babbling when she was nervous about something. He didn’t like when she was nervous around him. 

“Tough Girl, ye know I’ll support ye in anythin’ ye want,” he began, a little hesitant.

“Unless it’s that motorcycle of yours,” she interjected, the dry response hindered by her tense tone of voice.

“I told ye we’d wait until next fall to teach ye that. It’s nae exactly as easy as a car, love.” He heart her snort softly, and rolled his eyes. “Point is, I want ye to be able to trust me to tell me whatever ye’ve been thinkin’.”

She sighed. “It’s not that I don’t- don’t trust you, Bog, it’s just- it’s a big- it’s a big thought. I’m not- I’m not sure what you’re gonna think of it.”

Bog turned her stool around so she could face him. “Well, we won’t know until ye tell me,” he encouraged gently.

She met his eyes, and bit her lip a moment. After a moment of apparent deliberation, she blurted out. “I’m thinking about kids.” 

“What?”

He hadn’t meant that to be his response, but honestly he hadn’t known what to expect when Marianne began this conversation, but that was certainly now it. He wasn’t even completely sure he’d heard her correctly.

She offered him a nervous smile. “I’m thinking about- about having kids. About wanting to have kids, you know. And maybe not like, right now-right now, but just, you know, something to think about.” She took another shaky breath. “So, um, thoughts? On that?”

Bog barely heard any of that over what amounted to white noise in his ears. "Kids?"

Marianne fidgeted, her fingers passing through her hair. "Yeah. Kids."

"W-with- with-," Bog swallowed. "With me?"

"No, with the mailman. Yes, with you."

Normally he would rise to her teasing, say something sarcastic in response, but his brain was having difficulty moving past 'kids' like it was a scratch on a record.

Kids. Kids. Kids. 

Marianne wants to have kids. With him.

Kids.

"Well," she said, standing suddenly and moving to stand by the glass doors to the yard. "That's a resounding silence for that idea. Just forget- forget I said it, honestly. I'm not-"

Bog shook his mental paralysis. "Mari, wait- no. I'm not-" he stopped himself, trying to breathe. "Just give me a second, love. Ye kinda dropped a lot on me just now."

She looked at him, before deeply exhaling, her shoulders slumping a little. "I did, didn't I?"

She said nothing else, apparently giving Bog the time to think this over that he'd asked for. Except, now that he was given it, Bog didn't know what to think.

Did he want kids? Before Marianne he wouldn't have been sure. He'd never had much dealings with them, never having to have spent time with younger relatives or babysitting. He always found the responsibility of them a little daunting, and even outside of just physical care, he didn't know how good he'd be at, well, fathering. 

But with Marianne?

Looking at her then, Bog would be lying if he said the idea had never occurred to him, or didn't appeal to him. Having a family with the woman he loved. He took a second to picture Marianne carrying his child, and what that child would be like. Would they have his eyes or hers, her nose hopefully, but their features a little bit of them both-

A little bit of fairy.

That stopped Bog short, freezing his thoughts in place again. God, it was so easy - too easy - to forget sometimes, that Marianne wasn't human. That she was the princess in another kingdom, in another world. The world that was hers by nature and by right. How was someone supposed to have a family with fairy royalty, no matter how badly he might want it.

He took a breath, his heart already aching with what he was going to say. "Marianne, it's not- I would like to..."

Marianne's expression fell. "There's a 'but', isn't there.?"

"No," he sighed. "Well, yes, but it's just- Ah didnae think we- we- could, ye know?"

She blinked, her oncoming dejection interrupted with genuine confusion. "What do you mean? Of course we can."

"Well, with ye bein'- and me-"

"Bog, have you completely forgotten about Plum being part-fairy? Like within three-generations ago, this sort of thing happened. And I was pretty sure that's why you wear a condom whenever we do it - to keep this from happening in case we didn't want it."

Bog shook his head. "That's not what Ah mean. Love, yer only here for six months before ye haveta go home an be a princess. Nine months of pregnancy isn't goin to fit in there."

Marianne rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning against the kitchen island. "So I stay for a full year one year. Dad and Dawn can handle it."

"And every year after that?" Bog pressed. "What are ye gonna do then?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marianne countered. "I'm gone for five or six months, Bog, and I come back for a day or more every two and a half during the spring and summer. Do you honestly think I'm just going to be abandoning you with our kid? Really?"

"Marianne, I'm not sayin- I'm just saying this is something ye need to think about-"

"And you think I haven't? Bog, I've been thinking about this, for a while now. I know it wouldn't be- normal, exactly, but there are plenty of families in your world and mine that are stranger than this. If we want it, we can make it work, I know we can."

Bog ran a hand through his hair. He understood what she was saying, he really did, and god, did he want it. But-

"Yeah, but Mari- we both know someday yer not gonna come back here."

Marianne went completely still, staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "Um, no. We don't both know that." 

Bog sighed, gravelly, almost a growl. "I don't mean soon. I mean, in ten years, twenty, I don't know- but yer gonna have to stay there eventually, you know?"

"No, Bog, I don't. What are you even saying?"

"Marianne, yer gonna be a bloody Queen someday!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, that's what this is about?" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Why would that change anything about our arrangement?"

Bog blinked, completely boggled by her nonchalance. "Why would it-? Mari, leavin' your kingdom- your- your home- for half a year is fine when you're not bloody ruling it!" She opened her mouth and he waved a hand. "I know, I know, ye're in another kingdom for the winter but that doesn't-! Ye can't expect me to believe as Queen ye'll just leave- they're still yer people!"

"I know that!" She threw up her hands, frustration in every line of her body. "Bog, don't you think I know that when I'm the one living there half the year? When I have to explain and defend our arrangement to every council leader until I'm blue in the fucking face? Listen, I understand your concern but you have to believe that know what I'm doing."

"I'm not sayin' ye don't-"

"That's exactly what you're saying!" She snapped. "Like- Jesus- is that what you think this is for me? You still think my time here with you is just me- partying it up while I'm young? Until I'm mature and a proper Queen and can just put this behind me like it was nothing more than a right-of-fucking-passage?"

"Marianne- Ah- no!" Bog came around the island to put his hands on her forearms, eyes wide. He hadn't meant that at all. There was just a dark part of him that would never quite go away that told him again and again that his time with Marianne was finite, that it had to end someday. Hearing her talk about their future, about a family, as much as he wanted it, had caused it to rear it's ugly head. But he never- god, he never meant to doubt her. 

She wouldn't look at him, her steely gaze boring into the sliding glass door, toward his garden. "Mari, I-"

"I love you, Bog," She interrupted, her voice quieter but firm. "I love you so much that I am trying to think about a future without you and let me tell you, I can barely breathe." She stole a glance out of the corner of her eye, before looking at away again. "I know, I know what we have is... is different and maybe sometimes it'll be difficult, too, but you have to believe the only thing that will ever keep me from being with you is you telling me you don't want it anymore."

"Mari," he heard himself say. "I want you here, for the rest of my life. I'll always want that. But compared to- to yer whole- to yer- everything - what I want doesn't matter."

Now she looked at him. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying yet. She lifted a hand, resting it on his cheek, then, with just a slight firmness, smacked it. "You. Stupid. Man." Three smacks to punctuate her words. Behind the unshed tears her eyes burned. "It does to me."

Her voice had gone thick and a few tears dropped from her eyelashes and suddenly Bog was the one who could barely breathe. He hadn't meant to hurt her. 

"I love ye," he said softly. "I want you to stay with me."

Marianne gave a watery laugh. "Good, because I'm going to." She pulled away from him, letting her hand linger on his cheek a moment, dragging lightly over his beard, before going to sit at one of the kitchen stools. They were quiet together a moment, watching wind shake the branches of budding trees. "I'm sorry."

Bog, having just opened his mouth to say the same thing, closed it with a snap for a second. "Why? Marianne, I'm sorry. I-"

She shook her head, but she was smiling with a fond sort of ruefulness. "No, I shouldn't have gotten so upset. I know you weren't- you weren't saying that you wanted me to go, and I know how- happy you are when we're together. I- sometimes I just get so-"

"Scared," Bog finished softly. He sat beside her, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles. 

She nodded. "This is so- I'm so happy here, Bog. But I know it's not- conventional, and it's not fair that you have to deal with me leaving you every spring-"

"I've never been one for conventional, love. I'll want ye as long as ye want to do this." He shook his head with a bitter laugh of his own. "Christ, we're too alike sometimes."

She laughed again. "We are. Anyways, I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to ye," he returned, earnestly. "I know ye'll fight for us, but it's sometimes hard for me to understand why I'm worth fightin' for. But I'm- I'm workin' on that." 

"Good," she said again. "Because you are." 

They were silent again for a moment, Bog's eyes falling back to their joined hands. "Mari," he said, looking back at her. "I don't think we should have kids right now."

Marianne held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "You're right.  Maybe not for another couple years, even."

"Exactly." He took a deep breath. "But- someday?"

"Someday," Marianne agreed softly, a small smile beginning to turn at her lips. Bog felt his heart almost physically lift at the sight of it. "I'd like that a lot."

"Me too." She sniffed a little, and Bog sighed, reaching for her. "C'mere."

The embrace was awkward, them both sitting as they were. But Marianne pressed her face into his neck, and he could feel her take a moment to just settle her breathing. His hand found purchase between her shoulder blades, rubbing his thumb between them. He rested his head on her hair, and just breathed. 

After several minutes there, Bog finally asked the first thing that came to mind: "Did ye want breakfast?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Marianne gave a snort that dissolved into giggles. Giggles that persisted far longer than he thought the question itself warranted. 

"What?"

She pulled back from him, covering her mouth with one hand, her shoulders shaking. Her amber eyes glittered now with more than leftover tears. "I'm sorry," she said, with another snort of laughter. "I'm sorry. It's just-" She lowered her voice comically before saying, "'Marianne's upset - I need to feed her!'" She began to truly laugh; it was enough that Bog didn't care much that she was laughing at him.

"Was that an impression, Tough Girl?" He said, dryly, smiling in spite of himself. "Because I think I've told ye what I think of those."

"That I do them better drunk?" Marianne said. Bog gave her a look and she bit her lip as if trying to ward off more laughter. 

"I love you, you ridiculous woman."

She reached, taking his face in her hands, her thumbs gliding along his cheekbones. "I love you, you giant idiot," she said fondly, before leaning forward and kissing him warm on the mouth. Bog cradled the back of her head in his hand, his fingers sliding through her soft hair. 

When they parted, she gave his cheek another light slap. "And I would fucking love breakfast."


End file.
